Gabby felt her face go slack. She had no answer for this.
“See? You really don’t know anything,” he went on. “You don’t know what it’s like to see your best friend bleed to death. You don’t know what I think and feel and relive every single goddamn day. You don’t know. You weren’t there. So shut the hell up!”
Gabby stayed frozen in place, unable to move or talk or even breathe. All she could do was watch as Prentiss stormed over to his car, climbed inside, and raced it onto the road, stirring up tiny eddies of dust.
He’s lying, she thought, not bothering to step out of the way as a cloud of grime washed over her. It can’t be true. Please. Don’t let it be true.
Because if he was right, she’d have no reason to hate him. And for some reason, she really needed to hate Prentiss Applewhite.
“Uuugghhh!” Daphne set her head down on the table. “This is so hard! I don’t understand why we have to learn math anyway. I mean, we have calculators and stuff now that do it for us.”
“It’s not just for cashiers,” Mule said. She could hear him digging in the bag for another Dorito. “All these theorems and algorithms are like … secret codes. A way to make sense of the world.”
“Really?” Daphne sat up straight. “That would be nice, all right.”
“I actually find math kind of comforting. Much more straightforward than art and literature, with all those feelings and interpretations and blah, blah, blah. That’s the kind of stuff I find tough.” He stared off toward the living room, his eyes all droopy. Daphne had a sudden urge to pat him on the head or scratch him under his whiskered chin.
“Yeah, well, I used to think I was good at the feelings part,” she said, absently running her finger along the edge of the table. “Now I realize I suck at everything.”
“Don’t say that.” Mule was frowning at her.
“Why not?” she said with a shrug. “It’s true.”
“No, it’s not. Come on, I’ve known you a long time now. You’re good at lots of things.”
Daphne scoffed. “Oh yeah? Name one.”
“Well …” Mule’s khaki-green eyes swiveled up to the ceiling. “You’re good at making people feel good.”
“Are you talking about cheerleading?”
“No,” he said with a grin. “What I mean is … you smile and laugh. You put people at ease. You’re easy to talk to.” He said that last part as if he himself were surprised to discover it. “Not a lot of people can do that.”
Daphne had never really thought about it before. She supposed he could be right.
“So … you’re saying I’d make a good stewardess?”
Mule laughed. “No. I mean, yes, you would—and I hear they make excellent benefits. Besides, I think they like to be called flight attendants these days,” he added. “But seriously, I don’t just mean jobwise. Wherever you go, you’ll always have people around you. People who like you.”
“Where have you been lately?” Daphne asked, feeling annoyed. “I’m the least popular person in Barton right now. My friends totally turned on me. I have no one around.”
“Yeah, right,” Mule mumbled. “Just someone like me.”
Daphne’s face grew hot. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” Mule put his hand on her shoulder and smiled slightly. “Look, this thing at school … it’s temporary. And you probably won’t even be in Barton forever. But wherever you end up, you’ll pull folks in. You’ll have tons of friends—easily. Meanwhile, people like me and Gabby …” He broke off, letting his hand drop, and sighed down at the floor.
“I think you and Gabby should be together,” Daphne said. “Like a couple.”
He looked right at her, startled. “You do?”
“Yeah. You’re good for her. You’re great. She’d be stupid not to go for you.”
Mule peered at her for a long moment. Then a grin slowly spread across his face. “See? This is what I mean. You always know what to say to people.”
Daphne couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, well … it’s probably the only thing I’m good at.”
“Not true. You make excellent cookies. Which you still owe me, I must add.”
“I overslept.” Daphne wrinkled her nose apologetically.
He grinned. “I know. But you gotta count cookie baking as one of your talents. They are seriously addictive.”
“You’re just being nice. That’s like saying my animal noises count as a major skill.”
Mule perked up in his chair. “You do animal noises? Cool! How did I not know this? Well?” He moved his hand in a circular motion. “Go on, then. Demonstrate.”
“No.” Daphne ducked her head. “I’d feel stupid.”
“Aw, come on! I’ll do my air trumpet for you.” He stooped over to meet her eye. “Pleeeeease?”
She laughed. “Okay, okay. But really, they’re not that great.” She sat up straight and opened her mouth … then chewed her bottom lip. It wasn’t that easy. She’d done her animal sounds for the family many times—usually when they didn’t want to hear them. But for a guy?
It’s just Mule, she told herself. No big deal.
Daphne took a breath and did her horse, a long whinny followed by a shake of the head and a raspberrylike snort. Then she immediately clasped her hands over her face in embarrassment.
“Oh. My. God. That was awesome!” Mule exclaimed.
She peeked at him through her fingers. His face was all lit up like those million-dollar-grand-prize winners on TV commercials.
“Do more! Do more!” he urged.
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “Your turn.”
“Okay. Deal’s a deal.” He held up his hands as if quieting an invisible audience and then pantomimed playing trumpet while blowing through his pursed lips. It did sound somewhat convincing.
“Very good,” Daphne said, applauding. “You know, that’s actually pretty similar to my elephant. Want to see?”
“Bring it! And we’ll see who the better trumpeter is.”
Daphne bent over and let her right arm dangle by her ear. Then she suddenly rose, lifting her arm and making a loud bugling noise through her lips.
Mule threw back his head, guffawing. “Aw, man!” he said, between laughs. “Okay, I give up. You win. It takes a big man to admit defeat, but you totally stomped me. Like a good elephant should.”
“Why, thank you,” Daphne said, taking a small bow. It felt good to laugh—like a warm bath after a particularly grubby day.
For some reason, Mule was easy to laugh with. Maybe because he had such a great smile. It made his eyes twinkle and pushed his cheeks into perfect oval shapes.
“You know, it’s weird,” she said. “I never noticed how cool you are before.”
His smile crooked sideways. “Um … thanks?”
“No, I mean … I didn’t hate you or anything. You were just always with Gabby. So I felt like I wasn’t supposed to hang around you. It would have been like befriending the opposition or something.”
“Really?” he said, giving her a strange look.
She suddenly realized how silly she sounded. “Ugh!” she exclaimed, slapping her hands to her forehead. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Just … thanks. I haven’t had this much fun since … you know.”
Mule smiled. “Glad to hear it. So how about we look at this next set of problems? If you make a good score, I’ll do my Elvis voice for you.”
Again Daphne laughed, and again it was as if her insides were being scrubbed clean. “Deal,” she said.
Gabby slowly rolled the car down the gravel drive and into their spot in the carport. Two spaces down, Prentiss’s Mustang sat gleaming in the waning light. So he was back.
She turned off the engine and rested her forehead on the top of the steering wheel, trying to purge the stresses of her day with a few deep breaths. While she was out she’d stopped at the local library and looked up a news report on the accident. It confirmed that Sonny, even though he only had his learner’s
permit, had been the one behind the wheel, just as Prentiss had told her, and just as she’d remembered reading, and rejecting, at the time of the accident. She didn’t want to accept it now, either, except for one thing: the accompanying photo. Gabby hadn’t been able to truly look at it when it originally ran, so she’d failed to notice something important: the driver’s side was torn and mangled, while the passenger side barely had a dent.
There was no denying it now. It really hadn’t been Prentiss’s fault. And that only confirmed something else: she was a mean person. Everyone was right about her.
She’d been unfair. She realized that now. At the time of the accident, all that had mattered to her was that Sonny was gone for no good reason. She hadn’t cared about the truth. She cared only about punishing someone for Sonny’s death—and it was all too easy to focus her anger on Prentiss. And while Prentiss still might not be the finest individual ever to roam the planet, he probably didn’t deserve to be judged so harshly.
He was right that Gabby didn’t know anything. She’d never thought about his side. It never occurred to her that he’d seen Sonny die—actually witnessed it happening, right in front of him. She couldn’t imagine how horrible that must have been. Prentiss never seemed to be all that torn up about the accident, something she’d always found appalling. But maybe he was and just didn’t show it. Gabby, of all people, should know that was possible. And earlier that day, when he’d been yelling at her, she’d seen something in his eyes that she recognized: pain mixed with helplessness. It seemed real, which made him seem more real, too.
Perhaps things weren’t always so easy for him, like she’d thought. If that was the case, well … then she really did feel ashamed about how she’d treated him. Moreover, there was a part of her that wanted to hear the whole awful truth from Prentiss about the car crash. To find out exactly what he’d gone through—or, more precisely, what Sonny had gone through. But then … part of her didn’t want to know. Not that it mattered. Prentiss probably never wanted to see her again in his life.
No matter what, Gabby knew she should apologize. It was the right thing to do. Anyway, Prentiss was their landlord, and like it or not, she had to accept that her family was dependent on his. So she made up her mind to say she was sorry, but not in person. Every time she got around the guy, her brain—and sometimes her mouth—went rogue. He was just too linked with her crazy past. He reminded her too much of Sonny.
After leaving the library, she had driven over to Hawthorne’s for some sweet tea and written him a letter. It was the perfect solution. She’d labored over it for close to an hour, making sure it was repentant enough without sounding phony. Sorry if I offended you. I was wrong to jump to conclusions. It won’t happen again. Best regards …
It would have to do.
Gabby picked up the paper lying on the passenger seat and looked it over. Then she shoved it into a bank deposit envelope she found in the glove compartment and carefully wrote Prentiss’s name across the front. Taking another deep breath, she climbed out of the Jetta and headed up the sloping lawn to the main house.
Darkness had fallen quickly, and none of the front lights were on at the Applewhites’. The porch was a muddle of foreign, blocky shapes and various shades of black. Creepiness aside, Gabby was relieved to see the house look so sleepy. It gave excellent cover for her to slip the note into the mailbox and sneak away.
She tiptoed onto the front terrace, squinting to make out the mailbox. Eventually her eyes found the whitewashed iron bin on the wall. But just when she was about to approach it, a movement startled her. A quick shifting of the shadows just to her right.
Gabby gasped and spun around, staring at the place where the darkness had fluttered. Then she watched in horror as one of the shadows rose in front of her.
It was Prentiss. Apparently he’d been sitting in the wicker rocking chair.
“Oh, my god! You scared me,” she exclaimed, pressing her free hand to her chest.
He didn’t reply. Just moved over to the porch railing and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“I—I was just going to drop this off,” she went on. “It’s … for you. An apology.”
Again he said nothing. By now her eyes had adjusted, and she could see him in the half-light watching her, his expression completely blank. She held out the letter, but he made no move to take it.
Now she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she just leave? She had to at least try to explain.
Gabby cleared her throat and stared down at her ragged sneakers. “I’m sorry about what I said,” she began. “I was out of line. I assumed … well … I assumed a lot of stuff, without knowing the facts. And I guess I was sort of … mean.”
Still no reply. No movement at all.
She lifted her gaze to him. He was so like a marble statue—cold, still, perfectly formed. And just as imposing as the bronze cast of St. Joseph in her grandmother’s church. She felt small and ashamed. She ached for forgiveness.
“I’m not a bad person. Really,” she said in a whisper. “I just … I don’t know. I just say stuff—not only today, but all the time. I lose my temper too easily. I’m not sure why.”
Okay, now she sounded stupid. And she felt utterly foolish babbling on in front of him. Obviously Prentiss was never going to forgive her, and she really shouldn’t be surprised. She’d just wanted to make things right. For her family’s sake. And maybe for the sake of Sonny’s memory, too.
“Anyway … here.” Gabby set the envelope down on the chair he’d been sitting in and turned to go. But before she could walk down the steps, he put his arm up against the opposite post, blocking her escape.
Gabby glanced at him, confused. Was he going to yell at her? If so, she would stand there and take it. She deserved it. Her family shouldn’t have to lose the house because of her bitchiness.
Only he didn’t yell. Instead, Prentiss just stood there, gazing down at her—or into her. His eyes were intense, and there was something behind his stare. Something that held her in place like a tractor beam. Suddenly he swooped forward and pressed his mouth against hers.
A thousand thoughts swarmed through Gabby’s mind. She wondered what was going on.… She wondered why she wasn’t ducking and running away.… And she marveled at the softness of his lips, the feel of his hand on the small of her back, and the giddy aroma of woodsy deodorant mixed with spearmint gum.
Then all at once, her brain gave in—just overloaded and shut down. It was liberating. Hundreds of nagging worries seemed to rise out of her and dissipate in the evening air. No more gridlock of thoughts. No more time and place, or her and him. There was only softness and warmth and a rushing current of … something. Something familiar. Something she hadn’t felt in years …
After an immeasurable amount of time, the kiss ended—not abruptly, more like the gradual, gliding stop of an amusement park ride—and she was left wobbly, her heart palpitating.
Prentiss pulled away and stepped back into the shadows. Meanwhile, Gabby turned in a slow half circle, blinking hard and trying to get her bearings. Everything had gone murky again. She could only see a dim, Prentiss-shaped outline and the glow of the new energy-efficient porch lamp bulb from across the yard. The whole front of the rental house seemed to be in soft focus.
It was just like it had been four and a half years before on Make-Out Ridge. She didn’t say goodbye. She left no glass slipper. She simply stumbled down the front steps and, like a woozy moth, followed the light toward home.
“No, the critical value is right, but that’s not the answer,” Mule said. “It’s not enough to just work out the problem, you also need to pinpoint the item they’re asking for.”
“Ohh!” Daphne exclaimed. It all made sense now; it just clicked into place, like a new app for her brain. Amazing.
It was so good of Mule to help her. She’d never thought doing schoolwork could be fun, but it actually had been. And Mule didn’t even seem to mind her messy hair and peppermint pajam
as.
Daphne had never felt so relaxed around a guy before. She didn’t worry about how she looked or acted. She just … was. It was easier than she’d thought it would be—just like geometry.
Right at that moment the door opened and Gabby strolled into the house.
“Hey, there you are,” Mule said, leaning back in his chair.
She looked startled, as if she were surprised to find them there. “Here I am,” she said.
“Where have you been?” Daphne asked.
“Around,” Gabby replied. She stretched out along the couch and folded her arms behind her head.
Mule and Daphne exchanged puzzled stares. This didn’t seem to be Gabby. This person moved too slowly and spoke too quietly. Even her face looked weird. It was looser and pinker.
Daphne got up from the table and walked to the couch for a closer look. “Hey, Gab … I’m sorry about before,” she said. For hours she’d been stewing about it in the back of her mind. She really had been unfair to Gabby. Things had been hard on her, too, these past few days—especially with Mom gone.
Gabby seemed confused. “Huh?”
Daphne frowned. “The fight,” she reminded her. “About Dad.”
“Right.” Gabby nodded slowly. “No big deal.”
No big deal? Okay. Something was definitely up. In fifteen years she’d never known Gabby to voluntarily back down from an argument.
She looked at Mule again. He was hanging over the back of his chair, scowling hard in Gabby’s direction. He also seemed thrown by her behavior. Or even downright alarmed.
Daphne decided to give them some alone time. If anyone could get to the bottom of this, Mule could.
“Oh, man. This studying has really worn me out,” Daphne said, stretching her arms. “I think I’ll go on to my room now.” She headed to the table for her books, giving Mule a tap on the shoulder. “Thanks for everything.”
“No problem,” Mule said. “You did great.”
“Because of you. You’re so good at this.”
“Hey,” he said, gently grabbing her elbow as she walked past. “You’re good at a lot of stuff, too. Don’t forget.”
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